Finding Daddy
by Salome Sensei
Summary: A head injury causes Inuyasha to think he's a child again. Miroku finds himself compelled in ways more complex than he expected. Adults only, please.
1. Chapter I

Salome, 2008

Finding Daddy

for the puppykink underground

Author's Notes: Doing my best to keep this plausible and in-character, emotionally deep/angsty, and also naughty-hot.

Warning: Shouta overtones. Don't read it if you don't like that sorta thing.

I

As always when Inuyasha injured himself, he bawled uncontrollably and called for his mother. And this time was especially bad because he had hit his head incredibly hard on that huge boulder. He couldn't remember exactly how he had done it; probably climbing it. He always had to find his own pastimes and he liked them a little dangerous. Took his young but nimble mind off other things. When his mother was busy, there was no one else to play with, and even when she was not busy, her sad-love look often kept him from begging for anything more than just her affection. So, yes, he must've climbed this huge boulder and fallen. Though, really, it wasn't so very large, and neither were the plants and trees around it. He stopped his own crying with that realization. How come everything looked smaller? And just which glade was this? Nothing looked familiar or right. He curled into a ball and cried out for Mother again, the combination of his throbbing head and fear that he had somehow gotten hopelessly lost rendering his howl more than usually sharp and plaintive.

As he lay, his sensitive ears picked up the sound of running feet. He stopped crying again and sat up on his haunches to sniff the air. No, it wasn't Mother. A jingle of metal offered a staccato accompaniment to the rhythm of the feet. He smelled…a human. They were never friendly, unless they wanted something from him. He winced, instantly remembering far too much. The steps were getting close. Who was it? What should he do? As the options of running, hiding, facing his opponent bravely, and crying out once more for Mother flashed through his mind, a voice called out "Inuyasha!" with such concern that the little hanyo could do nothing but freeze.

Seconds later, bursting through a stand of bushes, Inuyasha's wide-eyed gaze beheld the flushed visage of a monk. He was slender and not old, with mild, expressive eyes. Perhaps he would be kind. No matter how many times Inuyasha was disappointed—or worse—by human cruelty, hope returned anew. If Mother loved him, perhaps someday someone else would, too. Or maybe someone would just be kind to him, maybe today, when he sorely needed it.

The monk called out his name again as he approached with care, with worry, with sympathy. Inuyasha shook his head and inched backwards. Only Mother ever sounded this way, and her voice was always soft, melodic, and sad. Inuyasha did not know how to reply, what to do. He pressed his back to the boulder that had wounded him and held his breath. He gazed up.

"Are you all right, Inuyasha?" the monk asked.

Inuyasha did not speak. Who was this man of protectiveness? Should he know him? Surely not.

The monk drew closer. He reached out a hand to help the hanyo up. His smell was benevolent. There was no evil in him, unlike every other human man and male demon he had met in his few years of life, even the monks. Not knowing what else to do, Inuyasha took the offered hand. And it was then that Inuyasha saw that his own hand was as large as the monk's. Impossible! When he stood, he seemed to be of similar height, too. What was going on? Nothing made sense. Unable to find, in that instant, any possible answer to satisfy his childish distress, Inuyasha threw himself into the monk's arms and sobbed.

Miroku was stunned. Whether he was more shocked by the hysterical wail for "Motherrrrrr!" or the tightness of the clench around his waist, he could not rightly say. But something was very wrong here. Even as the anxiety rose, however, the truth hit him. This was a joke. It had to be. Prying the idiot hanyo from his body, Miroku demanded, "Quit the nonsense, Inuyasha. You scared the hell out of me. I thought you'd really been hurt!"

Inuyasha clung with all of his might to the only thing that seemed stable in this suddenly alien world but was cast off. "Please, Hoshi-sama," he whined, falling to his knees. "I'll be good. Let me stay with you until my mother comes to find me." His voice was unfamiliar to his ears, too low and too loud. He fell silent, bowing his head and offering his lips to nearly kiss the monk's holy feet. He'd learned through several harsh beatings that actually making physical contact with humans when he was showing humility sometimes made them even more angry and apt to violence than if he refused to show submission.

"I'm serious," warned Miroku, starting to get a little panicked by this strange prank. "What kind of stupid joke is this, anyway?"

_Joke?_ thought Inuyasha. He never "joked." Having fun and playing games were things other children did, not hanyo outcasts like him. How could he get this kind-seeming monk to understand that he was not "joking"? He was scared and alone, lost and injured. He had no choice but to risk speaking again in his strange new voice: "I beg you, Hoshi-sama. Show me kindness. The gods will reward you for your charity, even if it is only to a worthless hanyo like me." He bent his head to the earth and waited. Though it was not cold, he shivered. Maintaining control over himself like this—begging properly and not crying—had saved him before and just might save him again now.

That Inuyasha was not pulling some absurd hoax struck Miroku when he looked closely at Inuyasha's bowed head. There was a patch of blood at the back of his skull, threaded thorugh his thick white hair. "Inuyasha," he began softly. "Did you hit your head?"

Inuyasha nodded into the dirt.

"Look at me, please, Inuyasha," he encouraged.

Inuyasha raised his head but did not make eye contact. "Yes, Hoshi-sama. Forgive me, Hoshi-sama. I hit my head on that boulder. I am a clumsy, worthless hanyo. I apologize for being so much trouble, Hoshi-sama." He bowed his head again.

_Damn_, Miroku swore to himself_. Inuyasha thinks he's a child again._ Though he knew little about his mixed-blood companion's childhood, he understood it was not a happy one. And from the few words he had just uttered and the way he abased himself, it was clearly even worse a childhood than he had thought. Miroku sighed, wishing Kagome was here with them. She would know what to do. Or perhaps Sango: she had cared for her little brother Kohaku until he had been taken from her. Hell, anyone would be better than him, even Kikyo or Sesshomaru. No, not Sesshomaru. His relationship with his brother was not likely to have been any better during childhood than it was now, perhaps worse. Imagining Sesshomaru ritualistically tearing the child Inuyasha's flesh with his claws for simply having been born, Miroku concluded that, while things could be better, they could also be worse. The monk was available and he would do what he could until Inuyasha came to himself or until they could get back to the others and come up with some other solution.

Inuyasha spoke again, hoping to convince the monk not to hurt him, at very least. "Look," he said, noting the swords in his belt. "I will give you these weapons. They are not mine anyway. I don't know how I got them. But please, take them as a gift, for not harming me."

The first thing to do was to calm his terrified cohort. He had to keep Tetsusaiga with him to avoid becoming yokai. In this vulnerable state, who knew what kind of havoc it might wreak. Without knowing precisely what he would say, Miroku did his best to soothe and reassure: "Inuyasha, do not be afraid. I am here to help you. The swords are yours, though I know they seem unrecognizable. Keep them where they are. Know that you are safe, and I will not let anyone harm you."

Inuyasha raised his head and blinked back tears. "Truly, Hoshi-sama?"

"Truly."

Pushing the weapons back into place at his side with a confused look, Inuyasha spoke again. "Please, Hoshi-sama, will you bring me to my mother?"

"I cannot," Miroku said with sincere regret. "But…I will take you with me and care for you. You can trust me, Inuyasha. I am your friend."

Inuyasha shook his head, apparently without meaning to. Under his breath, he muttered, "Who would want to be friends with a hanyo?"

Miroku felt the pain in those words. No wonder Inuyasha was so often scornful and distant. No wonder he had once wanted the Shikon Jewel for himself, to become fully yokai. No wonder Kikyo's love and her seeming betrayal colored his world so fully and permeated his relationship with Kagome. So many things made more sense now. As he stepped forward and raised his friend's eyes to his, he saw both the adult he knew—in truth many years older than he—and also the child, longing for comfort. He ached to bring him ease, as both child and adult. The gods were so cruel sometimes. Looking into those deeply wounded eyes, what he needed to say and do was clear: "Come into my arms, Inuyasha. Feel the truth of what I say. Let me care for you."

As he said these words and enfolded Inuyasha to his body, the importance of what he offered struck him with unexpected force. He had never embraced his companion, never consciously allowed himself to consider doing so. Such closeness was foreclosed between them by temperament and by gender. Miroku had often fought with pride beside this brave yet rash individual. He had equally often lamented his immaturity and petulance. And he had sympathized with his struggles and his losses. Yes, he admitted to himself as the child-minded Inuyasha clung to him for dear life, he had sympathized and, more than once, wished to show it.

Watching his companion sit at night, isolated, apart from the others under the guise of keeping watch, Miroku had several times thought to go to him and wrap his arms around the tortured, silent figure. But he had held back, knowing his gesture would be refused, misunderstood. And then he had repressed the thoughts that led him to the painful truth of sure rejection. Perhaps even this admission was inaccurate: perhaps it was he himself who misunderstood, not only Inuyasha but himself. All his "lechery" and groping…always of women, always excessive. He flushed and wrapped his arms even more tightly around his wounded companion. "Let me make you safe, little one," he murmured into a soft, tufted ear.

Abruptly, as if in confirmation of Miroku's long-held fears, Inuyasha raised his head. He looked up curiously at the monk, the difference in heights between them only manifest because Inuyasha was still crouching. Slowly, he brought his face forward and kissed Miroku on the lips. The monk was too stunned to pull away at first. Already in a dazed state from his confused feelings and the pressure of handling Inuyasha's delicate condition with care, he could only conclude that Inuyasha had regained his senses and felt a desire as great, or greater, than Miroku's own. He returned the kiss, fervently, not caring whence it began or where it might lead. Never mind that he had never kissed a man. Never mind that he had never consciously wanted to. Never mind that this would complicate their relationship irrevocably. Having his arms around Inuyasha and feeling their lips pressed together was all that mattered in that moment.

After a few moments, Inuyasha gently broke the kiss and smiled a fragile smile. He wiped his eyes on his robes. "I understand how you are my 'friend' now, Hoshi-sama. I will serve you in any way you require. I beg in return only that you not tell my mother what we have done when you are finished with me."

Miroku pushed Inuyasha back and held him at arm's length. What grotesque misunderstanding was happening right now? What deeds had the poor hanyo child been forced to commit before he was even able to understand them, let alone consent? And how had he himself become just another in the line of abusers of his trust?

Despite what must have looked like shocked horror on the monk's face, Inuyasha continued. "Do not frown, Hoshi-sama. Your arms are warmer and your lips are gentler than the others. And you have given me these beautiful swords and may even return me to my mother when you tire of me. I am honored to serve you. May I now kiss you again, Hoshi-sama?"

Before he could speak or even collect his thoughts, Inuyasha's mouth was upon his. The child words in an adult voice, the adult lips with the childish innocence behind them. This was wrong, all wrong. And yet…he did not break the kiss. The desire to hold Inuyasha, to desire him, perhaps even to love him, was only possible here, now. What he knew to be right was quickly losing to what he badly wanted.


	2. Chapter II

Salome, 2008

Finding Daddy

II

When Inuyasha shyly parted Miroku's lips and offered his tongue, the monk ended the kiss. The fantasy of desire shattered around the reality he faced. Had the embrace continued to feel like shared passion, with Inuyasha's tongue shoved down his throat in the impulsive and aggressive way Miroku imagined he would, he could have convinced himself that it truly was the Inuyasha he knew that he was kissing. But in that tentative lick, he felt no desire, just the full force of the abused hanyo child's desperate need to please.

Inuyasha responded to the broken embrace with panic: "Have I done something wrong, Hoshi-sama? Should I satisfy you some other way?" He came to his knees and began to lift Miroku's robes.

"No!" Miroku snapped, desperate that the child—for child he was—did not find the erection within his garments. Inuyasha winced and pressed his head to the ground again. Miroku exhaled deeply and came to a seated position before the hanyo. "Inuyasha, come walk with me. There are hot springs not far from here. We must do something about that injury."

"Yes, Hoshi-sama," Inuyasha replied promptly, sitting up and visibly rallying his courage. He brought his hand up to the back of his head and felt the drying blood. There was a lump there, too. Though he knew the lump would soon go down, the blood would need to be washed away. He imagined his mother's gentle hands when she bathed him and had to hold back tears again. Perhaps the monk's hands, too, would be kind. "Thank you, Hoshi-sama."

Miroku reached out to lift him to his feet. Inuyasha's posture made it clear he planned to walk behind. "Come beside me," Miroku said, "and call me Miroku. That is my name. Until you hit your head, Inuyasha, you knew my name."

"I did? Forgive me, Hoshi-sama—"

"Miroku."

"Yes, Miroku-sama." Inuyasha paused, deciding whether it was safe to ask a question. Feeling it important to his relationship with the monk, he took the risk. "Did you like my kisses when I knew your name, Miroku-sama?"

Miroku walked forward, his eyes on the path ahead. "We did not kiss when you knew my name, Inuyasha."

Once again surprised by something that made his world alien, Inuyasha persevered. Moving forward, he tried to sound strong. "I am certain I will soon remember you, Miroku-sama. As soon as this bump on my head goes down. Please be patient with me, Miroku-sama."

"I have not always been patient with you, Inuyasha," Miroku replied, turning his eyes to his companion's. "But I will be now." He reached out an arm and wrapped it around Inuyasha's shoulder. He felt the odd wrongness of reaching across rather than down. The illusion of youthfulness in his friend vacillated, flickered, the mirage impossible either to dispel or to ignore. Whether child or adult, however, the fragile being at his side needed him—as he never had before. It stirred complex and unfamiliar emotions in Miroku, not the least of which was a guilt-inducing physical attraction.

Inuyasha smiled shyly and blushed at Miroku's words. Miroku had never seen the like on that face. Kagome had embarrassed him a time or two, Kaede had scolded him, Sesshomaru had bested him. But he had never seen a look of such awkward delight in his eyes. It was hard to see, and yet it was beautiful. Miroku was resolved: whether Inuyasha regained his memory or not, he would not leave him floundering in his self-loathing state of exile. "Come," Miroku beckoned, hastening their pace. If they did not keep walking, the temptation to kiss those softly curled lips might be too great to resist. Talking helped, too. "Does your body feel strange to you, Inuyasha?" Miroku asked, wondering if it sounded as improper as it felt.

"Yes, Miroku-sama!" Inuyasha replied with zeal. He was thrilled that it might not just be his perception. If the monk recognized that something was wrong, then perhaps there was hope that all could be made right again. "Do I look different to you than…than before?"

"No, friend. You don't. Except for the hurt look in your eyes, you look exactly like the Inuyasha I have come to know over the past year." The hurt, vulnerable, sweet, lost look in your eyes… Reacting to Inuyasha's dejected posture, Miroku hastened to add, "But you are right to feel you have changed…little one. Everything must seem so very different to you."

"Yes, Miroku-sama. It does," Inuyasha replied, his confidence in talking about himself increasing. He liked being called "little one." His mother once called him her "little miracle." She said that the gods had blessed her by allowing her a child with his powerful yokai father. He tried to remember this when the other children threw mud in his hair or when their parents told them that they would be cursed if they looked into his eyes.

He returned his mind to the present, and his uncomfortably adult body. "Is it some magic, Hoshi-sama? A spell cast upon me so I look different to myself but not to you? Don't you notice how my voice has deepened? How my body has grown?"

Miroku was pleased that he was talking more openly now, with less fear of punishment. He smiled a patient, indulgent smile. "It is a sort of magic, I suppose," he replied. "I know it must be frightening to suddenly find yourself an adult, but I know you, Inuyasha. You are strong and brave. I am certain you have always been." He cupped his friend's soft cheek in his hand and looked deeply into his wide, golden eyes. "There are many things I cannot promise you, Inuyasha. But I can pledge that no one will treat you as they have done when you were a child…I mean…as they have done before."

Inuyasha nestled his face into Miroku's hand. He did not understand why the monk would not kiss him. There were few ways he could show his gratitude, and it seemed at first as though the man had enjoyed it. In truth, Inuyasha had as well. But that was just wishful thinking. Letting his eyes drift down, he spoke quietly but clearly: "Nothing can keep humans and yokai from hating hanyo, Miroku-sama. I know that. My mother has told me it is not my fault but…."

Miroku interrupted, trying another tack: "But now you have a man's body, Inuyasha. It may be strange to you, yet it is strong. You can protect yourself."

"Will you teach me, Miroku-sama?" Inuyasha said with a smile.

Miroku moved his hand to tousle Inuyasha's hair. Another pleasure in which he had never been able to indulge before now. This child version of Inuyasha was sad but so resilient. His emotions were a bit like a rollercoaster, but Miroku was beginning to enjoy the ride—and the role he could play in keeping his friend on the upside. "It would be my pleasure to be your teacher, Inuyasha," Miroku replied, with enthusiastic sincerity.

Reaching the hot springs ended the conversation for the moment. Miroku thought a shared bath and cleansing of Inuyasha's head wound would provide additional opportunity for bonding and trust. He had not realized he would have to be responsible for helping undress the boy-man, who blushed that fastening and unfastening ties was still difficult for his clumsy young fingers. And he failed to take into account the shock that Inuyasha would face upon seeing certain parts of his suddenly-adult anatomy for the first time. But once they had finally gotten into the warm, soothing waters, it was easier to agree to suspend their cares for a short time.

Miroku leaned against the bank and closed his eyes. He opened them again soon after, as he found he was being stared at by a pair of wide, curious eyes. "What is it, Inuyasha?"

"I was just wondering, Miroku-sama," began the voice that both did and did not sound like his familiar hanyo companion. "When you said that we were friends…but that we had not kissed…was it because I am hanyo?"

Miroku gave a small, compassionate smile. Still, the child who addressed him turned everything to self-blame. He ached with the need to heal him. "Of course not, Inuyasha. If I ever had tried to kiss you, it was you who would likely have rejected me."

"And…Miroku-sama…did you never try because you…prefer girls?"

"Actually, Inuyasha, I prefer women." He laughed. "And what do you think you will prefer, when you grow up?" The absurdity of saying this to the adult-bodied individual facing him was lost in the desire to indulge and lighten the emotional burden of his new ward.

Inuyasha pouted. "You do not like boys at all?" he asked, cocking his head.

Such a puppy, he truly was: the combination of treasured innocence and complex experience was overwhelming to the monk. He had long faced his own struggles. He sought to end them through defeating demon foes that would lead to the eventual destruction of Naraku. And he sought to lighten them with the pleasures of female flesh and the promise of a child, however illusory, to carry on after his death. Now, in the well-known form of his wild and impetuous comrade-in-arms, he had suddenly found something new. This Inuyasha touched his heart in ways his battles could not, his affection for Sango did not, and his flirtations with women would not. Even if it was only a mirage and gone by morning, he welcomed the strange contentment their connection brought. "Come to me, little one," he said, opening his arms. No, he did not like kissing boys…until now.

Inuyasha splashed through the water to reach him, his smile broad and sincere enough to wipe any lingering trace of doubt from Miroku's mind. He wrapped his arms around the lithe, muscled frame that threw itself into his embrace and entwined arms around his neck. Their kiss was sweet and deep, full of comfort and of desire—a heady mixture that threatened to overwhelm but never did.

It was Inuyasha who at last broke away, releasing Miroku's lips to whisper a hesitant request into the monk's ear. "Miroku-sama, can I call you 'Daddy'?"

At any other time and place, from any other being, Miroku could not imagine giving the answer he now did: "Yes, little one, you may call me anything you wish. But kiss me again first."


	3. Chapter III

Salome, 2008

Finding Daddy

Thanks: Because I haven't said it directly enough yet, this story has been inspired by the AU InuMir shouta of **talonsage** and **jenerik-brand**. Though mine is canonesque and I needed a head injured adult to get me here, I am indebted to these writers for their beautiful, wicked writing.

III

Why had he never suspected Inuyasha's lips would be so soft? Why had he never been more curious? He let himself bask in the kiss, so full of sweetness and desire to please. They both so wanted to give to the other; Miroku felt the longing seep into his every aching pore. He kept himself so tightly bound—not only his hand but his heart. And this vulnerable, needing Inuyasha was gently, movingly, erotically opening him up and laying him bare to himself. He wanted this kiss more than he wanted anything else he could name at this moment.

Lips so soft, parting and tentatively offering tongue. He met and pressed into the embrace, wet and warm and naked and open to himself and to Inuyasha. To this Inuyasha. Men's mouths for him had always been bound to images of Mushin's sake-sipping slackness. Men's mouths were about crude appetites, sloppy expressions of affection or exhortations to labor. But whatever they were, they were not for kissing. Until now. Now, when those arms were wrapped so tightly around him and he felt only beautiful tenderness and aching loneliness arcing and washing over them both, over and over. How could a kiss do so much?

At last, he had to take Inuyasha by the arms and gently separate them for a moment. Miroku needed distance, to look into his eyes again and know what was him and what was Inuyasha and who this creature was who kissed so sweetly that suddenly nothing else on earth existed.

Inuyasha blinked, looked up hopefully. Hoshi-Daddy-sama had stopped the kiss but he had not pulled away. His arms still held him. He still felt safe. The safeness was new. And he wanted it, craved it. He had learned in recent months to let his body feel good, even if the human or yokai touching it did not feel good. Even cruel kisses could taste good in their way, for they still wanted something when they bruised his lips and shoved their tongues deep, and he could give it and make his life less unworthy by just withstanding. Then, when they forced their semi-hard shafts between his lips and down his throat, he could work his soft little tongue and make them very hard and then make them burst. That was good, to know he could do that, even though it stretched his mouth too much and made it hard to breathe sometimes. They did not care, and that was scary, but if he thought about making them hard and about the taste of the syrupy musk that they released down his throat like a reward, then it was better.

But Hoshi-Daddy-sama kissed him differently. The monk kissed him like…like…like Mother's hugs plus warm baths plus rubbing himself when he got hard plus oh just the way he always wished someone would kiss him when he kissed with his whole soul seeking love. He was looking into his eyes now, and Inuyasha wondered what he saw there. He blushed and looked down, but the monk raised his face and looked some more. He licked his lips. They were warm from the kiss. He was warm all over. Warm and wet in the hotspring. Here with this human who had big, sad eyes like Mother and said he'd protect and teach him but also made that place below his belly get tight and the hardness start. He wondered if the nice monk was also getting hardness and tight feelings below his belly. Should he ask? Reach out a hand and see? Before he could act, however, he noticed the concern in the monk's eyes. A worried look. The little hanyo was excellent at reading others' expressions. It was as necessary to life as breathing.

Miroku spoke. "Inuyasha, I really don't think we should…"

His ears went flat. He'd have dropped his head if Hoshi-sama weren't tipping it up. His lip began to tremble.

Miroku bit his lip as he watched the impossible phenomenon of his grown friend turning into such a pitiful, endearing child. "Oh Inuyasha, you're so…beautiful…"

The hanyo's ears perked, instantly. He sniffed and gave a too-big smile that seemed to start in his toes.

"So beautiful…" Miroku murmured, tracing his jawline with a finger.

Inuyasha shook his head and giggled. He wasn't beautiful. Hoshi-sama was crazy. A crazy Daddy: that was perfect for him. Better than perfect. Without thinking, he pressed forward and nuzzled into Hoshi-Daddy-sama's neck, pressed a kiss there, and then raised his head again, grinning absurdly.

Miroku watched the sudden, astonishing transformation. Inuyasha was lit from within. He wriggled in the water. He brought his hands through the water and splashed Miroku's face. He beamed. The sight made the monk's heart pound. How could his friend, his impetuous, argumentative, irascible, not-child friend be so damned…precious?

Inuyasha seemed to lack the ability to hold still while Miroku cleaned the small head wound. But that only made the experience sweeter. He found himself taking to a parental tone with surprising ease. "Hold still now, Inuyasha, I don't want to hurt you," he scolded gently, parting the thick hair to wash it clean.

"Yes, Hoshi-Daddy-sama," came the child-adult voice that made the monk dizzy with a desire he never knew existed before this day. Being allowed to touch, wash, and pore over his friend's magnificent mane was another incredible and unexpected blessing. As Inuyasha crouched to allow Miroku to soak and run his fingers through the coarse, shining strands, he basked in the intimacy of this forbidden act. Inuyasha seemed to love it, tipping back and pressing his head into the monk's eager hands. Everything now was charged with intensity and beauty. He knew they were both feeling it.

Soon, though, conscience caught up once more as the reality of their situation struck. His unrelenting erection troubled him, and he felt lucky that Inuyasha had not seemed to notice his own—though Miroku could not help but see it through the water, looking over Inuyasha's shoulder. How pale and smooth it was, bobbing below the surface. His own cock was something he took for granted: its fit in his palm, the looseness of the foreskin as he slid it back and forth in solitary moments of pleasuring, the small veins and the way the head swelled as he neared climax, the way it looked as it slipped between a woman's thighs. Yet, seeing his manhood reflected in Inuyasha's thicker, slightly shorter shaft made the entire category of the phallus remarkably new, and incredibly exciting.

But no. This was not the time to develop a fetish for his companion's erection. The thought of having it in his mouth was suddenly both breathtaking and overwhelming, but it was also incredibly irresponsible. No, he chided himself. Inuyasha was injured. No. He was a child. No. He looked to Miroku for protection not molestation (kisses notwithstanding). No. No. No. The way his cock jumped at each "no" was ridiculous. He forced himself out of the water and away from temptation. He held out a hand and assisted Inuyasha to the bank with a forced cheerfulness. Inuyasha was still a bit awkward, and leaving the pool seemed to make him shy once more. The doubled illusion of the child-yet-man shimmered before Miroku as the sight of his wet, naked body and that stunningly beautiful cock made his head swim.

"We need to get back to our companions," he murmured, attempting to muster conviction while wiping the water from his body and squeezing wetness from the gauntlet that covered his cursed hand.

Inuyasha watched and nodded slowly, beginning to draw his hands down his own body in similar fashion. Then, in a flash, he saw himself. That cock. His eyes widened. He looked at Miroku then down at himself again. His eyes narrowed and his brow wrinkled. He shook his head a little then looked down at the pole between his legs once more. He reached out a hand to grab it but decided otherwise. And then, looking straight into Miroku's eyes, he began to laugh. A beautiful child's delighted laughter. A bursting silliness at the absurd. A sound no adult could make and no child should ever stop making. Inuyasha pushed out his hips and the mirage of a little boy holding a tree branch out from between his legs as a joke was as obvious as it was familiar. Look at me, pretending I'm grown. Look at me, making fun of that pitiful state of adulthood.

Miroku caught on in an instant and found himself laughing, too. Inuyasha's innocent magic was irresistible. The two nude men stood in the grass, laughing until they could no longer even remain standing and collapsed into each other's arms. Miroku felt drunk with the gift of this brief respite from adulthood, as precious gift as the trust and faith that shone in his friend's eyes.


	4. Chapter IV

Salome, 2008

Finding Daddy

IV

The trek back to camp was longer than anticipated, for Inuyasha walked slowly, scuffing his heels, very obviously not wanting to get there. He nodded appropriately when Miroku reminded him, several times, that the people he was going to re-meet did care about him, were his friends. But the nods were a child's hollow obedience, not belief. So, they stopped while Inuyasha relieved himself. They stopped to pick berries when Inuyasha was suddenly too hungry to go another step. They stopped because he saw an interesting bug. They stopped to pull a non-existent thorn from his foot. And, against all odds, they arrived.

Kagome was the first to rise and come running toward them. Inuyasha immediately ducked behind Miroku's robes, then peered out. "Inuyasha?" she questioned in a surprised-concerned voice.

Miroku fought an instinct to soothe and protect his vulnerable friend—but for Buddha's sake, there was no danger here! "He…he was injured…and lost his memory," he said, reaching an arm around to try to bring Inuyasha forward. But the stubborn dog was having none of it.

"Oh, Inuyasha," Kagome gushed, "are you all right?" Sango approached now, an expression of concern on her face.

"The wound's small—he's fine—he just doesn't—doesn't know who he is—I mean—who he is now—" Miroku sputtered.

"I don't understand," Kagome said.

"Is this some sort of a game?" Sango asked, extending a warning finger at Miroku.

Inuyasha felt the tension rising and began to whimper in response. "Hoshi-Daddy-sama," he whined, softly.

"Hoshi-_what_?" Sango snapped.

Before Miroku could explain, Shippo skipped over, tail twitching, followed by Kirara, giving a plaintive mew.

The crowd was too much for Inuyasha, who lost confidence that his Hoshi-Daddy could save him from the approaching "mob." He took off into the woods, running dog-style, on hands and feet, as fast as he could go.

Miroku turned to follow, but Sango grabbed his robes and stopped him. "Hey, just a minute! What's going on here?"

Everyone was staring at him now, wanting answers. But Inuyasha was alone, scared, and running blind. "He thinks he's a kid again, okay? He doesn't know who any of us are, but I…won his trust and brought him back. I thought he trusted me, but clearly he's too afraid to trust anyone. I need to go get him." He looked at Sango, whose hand was still clutching his garment.

Kagome spoke: "Go Miroku. Make sure he's safe." Not for the first time, Miroku was impressed with the miko's calmness in the face of crisis. The same could not be said for Sango, who finally released his robes only when Kagome took her hand and removed it.

Miroku sprinted into the woods, feeling, for all the world, like a concerned parent…and, if he were honest with himself, something more. He called his friend's name and followed the path he thought the inu most likely to have taken. After a time, he at last came upon him, crouched in a stand of dense bushes, weeping. The monk kneeled before the mass of greenery, arms open, and invoked the precious name tenderly: "Inuyasha?"

With leaves stuck in his hair and wide eyes red from crying, the boy-man crawled out and pressed his face into Miroku's lap. To anyone passing by, the sight might have been absurd, even perverse: a dog demon with his rear high in the air and face nuzzling a monk's lap while murmuring "Hoshi-Daddy-sama" over and over and having his hair stroked soothingly. But no one was passing by, and Miroku was simply glad to have found the poor, broken creature to whose care he was now entirely dedicated.

"It's all right," Miroku soothed, "I'm here. You're safe, little inu. No one will harm you." Inuyasha snuffled wetly into his thighs for long moments, and the monk allowed it, petting him affectionately and murmuring whatever words of comfort came to mind.

In time, Inuyasha rose, sat back on his haunches, and looked up at his savior. His nose was running and his eyes were puffy. "Hoshi came for Inuyasha," he sniffed. "Even though he was bad." He ducked his head again and reached around Miroku's waist.

The impact of the head butt into his stomach nearly knocked him over. The ludicrousness of the child mind in that adult body was beginning to wear him out physically as well as emotionally. He took the arms and unwrapped them from his body. "Sit up and talk to me, Inuyasha. Everything's all right." Inuyasha held tight, and talked into Miroku's groin. The sensation was uniquely disconcerting.

"Don't make us go back," his muffled little-boy tone in adult voice begged. "Please, Hoshi-Daddy-sama."

"We must, Inuyasha," Miroku said, with a smile. After all they had faced together—thousands of lesser demons, scores of undead mortal foes, dozens of yokai, many named nemeses, Naraku—it came down to one scared child-man afraid to meet the people in the world who truly cared for him. But, of course, he could not know it.

"They…they were loud," he pronounced. "They were yokai…and human...and…." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "The slayer…I could smell her…she was…she did not like me…." He swallowed, hard, making Miroku's heart clench. "She loves Hoshi-Daddy-sama and can't like me…bad hanyo me…. Please…don't make us go back, Hoshi-Daddy-sama. Please?"

Miroku was stunned by the little speech. But there was no point in contradicting him, in trying to explain the intricacies of his relationship with Sango, in clarifying how the group came together and why they could call themselves friends, despite the differences. No, talking would not help, and this was a battle he could not afford to lose. He put a hand to Inuyasha's face, firmly cupped his cheek, and looked into his innocent eyes. "Listen to me, Inuyasha. We will go back because we have to. I'll protect you, I swear it. No one will harm you." He lifted the damp bangs and pressed a kiss on his forehead. Poor confused thing: he had gotten himself so worked up, and there was no way forward but through. "I know it's hard to trust, but it's the only answer I have for you."

Surprisingly, Inuyasha nodded. Inexplicably, the speech somehow reached him. "Yes, Hoshi-Daddy-sama. I will go back. I will be good. Even if the others all hate me, I know Hoshi-Daddy-sama does not."

Miroku sighed, and lifted Inuyasha to his feet as he rose. Hand in hand, Inuyasha half a step behind him, the two men returned to camp once more. And this time, though he trembled and whimpered a little, Inuyasha presented himself to be introduced to the strange faces of a group of "friends" he was certain he had never met in his young life.

Sticking close to Miroku's side and touching and holding onto him as often as possible, Inuyasha watched as the little band prepared the evening meal together. The strange girl with the short-short green loincloth kept smiling at him pityingly. Her look was a little bit like Mother's, and he felt badly that she could not afford more clothing. He wonders why Miroku or the others did not get her some—they did not seem poor, but he did not want to ask. The slayer glared at him once or twice, and he was certain now that she wanted him to go away from Hoshi-Daddy-sama. He gripped tighter to his dark robes. He would _not_ go away.

Watching Hoshi-Daddy-sama carefully skewer the long slender fish, he thought about the fact that he was not very good at cooking or serving food, but he could wash and dry the bowls and cups for Mother to put away. He frowned, thinking about the times he had broken cups when they slipped from his clumsy fingers. He looked at how big they are now. He was sure he would do better if only he were back home. And tears welled up in his eyes again as he wished that he had the chance to go back and say he was sorry to Mother now to make up for when he would run away and hide so he would not see her looking-sad face. She never punished him. He wondered if Hoshi-Daddy-sama would if he did stupid-clumsy-hanyo things like he always did.

The smell of rice and tea brewing made his stomach rumble, taking him away from his thoughts. He had not realized how hungry he was. In response to a whispered query, Miroku reassured him that they were happy to share with him. In addition to food and utensils he was used to, he also saw some he was unfamiliar with. The kitsune was pouring hot water into a strange white bowl covered with weird symbols and some kanji he could not read. The smell that came out of them as he pours was…amazing. He tugged Miroku's robe. "What is it?" he said, pointing, mesmerized by the aroma.

The kitsune turned to him. "It's ninja food, baka," he replied. "Your favorite—ramen!"

Inuyasha lowered his eyes and pouted. How could something be his favorite when he did not even know what it was or what that word was. "Rahhh-men?" He tasted the word in his mouth. It tasted good. He would bet the good-smelling stuff would taste good, too. He leaned forward and saw a pile of noodles swimming in dark, rich-scented broth. He licked his lips. "May Inuyasha try the rahhh-men, Kitsune-sama?" he asked, in his most humble voice, releasing Miroku's robes to bow low over his hands.

Shippo laughed at the sight. Inuyasha did not move. Shippo stared, cocked his head, stared some more. Then, Miroku watched a change take place in the fox's face. "Wow, Inuyasha, you are so lucky! You get to enjoy ramen for the first time a second time!" the kitsune chirped, offering the bowl to Inuyasha. Oh, the wisdom of children, thought Miroku, smiling and nodding at young Shippo. Inuyasha looked to Miroku for encouragement, then tentatively took the good-smelling food gift, bowing his head in gratitude.


	5. Chapter V

Salome, 10/08

Author's Note: I hope this story still has an audience – or finds a new one with this new chapter. I'm sorry I let it languish so long. I have a real soft spot for this fic. Lemon at last! Adults only.

Finding Daddy

V

Though tense for Miroku and even scarier for Inuyasha, the energy surrounding the group meal was tame by comparison to bedtime. For the entire evening, Inuyasha followed and clung to his Houshi-Daddy: to wash, to scout, to socialize, to stoke the campfire, to discuss strategy for rediscovering Naraku's whereabouts. He would not be separated, so there was no way to talk about him beyond his hearing. It would have to wait. Kagome looked worried, Sango looked annoyed, Shippo giggled, Kirara catnapped.

When they all finally decided to call it a night, Miroku was more exhausted than he'd been in as long as he could remember. The nervous energy he burned in protecting his damaged friend, in keeping Sango from being angry at him, in ensuring Kagome everything would be all right, and in fielding annoying child-questions from Shippo seemed bottomless. Suffice it to say, by the time the fire had burned to embers and all were lying in readiness for sleep, he'd truly earned a good night's rest. Everything would look better in the morning, he told himself…it had to be.

In many ways, it was a usual night's rest in the outdoors. Kagome lay curled around little Shippo. Sango's arm gently folded around a purring Kirara. And he, as usual, lay on his back, a little distance away, looking at the stars. But no. It was not usual. The large tree limb of the nearest oak did not have a hanyou resting on it, looking down protectively upon his companions. Instead, said hanyou was curled into himself with a blanket thrown over him, shivering with imagined cold that was in actuality a depth and kind of aloneness that even the cursed monk could not imagine. The boy-man sniffled and Miroku could not help but sidle over to him and extend an arm. "Houshi-Daddy-sama," Inuyasha enthused in a happy whisper as he threw himself into Miroku's arms and clung tightly to him.

No one else stirred at the sudden shifting and whispering, and Miroku was glad of it. He did not need to deal with Sango's lack of understanding or Kagome's worry. He just needed his friend to rest, to sleep and perhaps return to his real self in the morning. He sighed softly as he held Inuyasha tightly and breathed in his wild, musky inu scent. Yes. It was right to wish him his old self, even if the monk could do so only half-heartedly as he breathed deeply and felt their heartbeats synchronize.

Some hours later, Miroku awoke with a desperate need to urinate. Inuyasha's long leg was thrown over his lap and his arms were tightly wrapped around his shoulders. How had he slept at all in such a tangle of limbs? But he had, and he had enjoyed it. The loner and lecher had been happily enmeshed in his friend's embrace. Until now. When he had to extricate himself from that knot of a child-man and get beyond the campsite to piss.

He was surprised to find that Inuyasha did not wake as he lifted and pushed and at last wriggled free. Inuyasha, the real Inuyasha, would have awakened at the slightest touch, but this poor wounded boy simply wore himself out with fear and worry then slept like a log. Again, good. Perhaps the rest would heal him, and anyway if Miroku didn't relieve himself soon there'd be a cold wet puddle between them to wake to.

Barefoot, he padded over to the nearest tree, got behind it (as if anyone was looking, for kami's sake) and whipped out his cock. He was a little achy from holding it in as he extricated himself from Inuyasha's grip, but one deep breath was enough to bring out the flow, and he basked in the little pleasure of relief.

Suddenly, a familiar voice came from behind: "I like to pee too, Houshi-Daddy-sama," it whispered loudly. He snapped his head around to find Inuyasha smiling coyly up at him in the moonlight. He had his cock in his hand and the monk had to blink to dispel the optical illusion of it looking tiny and pre-pubescent in his hand. Inuyasha giggled down at himself as he turned to urinate beside the monk. "Look how big it is! I bet I could pee an ocean!" he snickered.

Well, the question of how Inuyasha would take it when he saw his adult cock was now solved, Miroku thought with an inward groan. He finished pissing and put his prick back into the folds of his robes.

"Know what else," Inuyasha said, remarkably at ease here in the dark, "I don't got a fundoshi on!" He giggled at this too, as if someone had conspired. The truth was, neither Inuyasha or Miroku could stand having their genitals bound in those absurd winding wraps. But Inuyasha probably had worn them as a child.

"Ah, freedom," Miroku said, touching the tip of Inuyasha's nose affectionately.

"Ah, freedom," his companion replied, but he did not put his dick away after he had finished relieving himself. He stared at himself and slowly stretched his mouth into a wide smile. His teeth flashed in the darkness. "Let's see how big it gets, Houshi-Daddy-sama." His tongue protruded a bit from his mouth as he stroked himself. "I never touched one this big before…and it's…mine!" he said, with obvious delight.

Miroku licked his lips nervously. What was going on here? His scared little boy in a man's body was not acting so very scared anymore. He wasn't trying to openly seduce Miroku; he knew he did not need to now. The monk was "Houshi-Daddy" now. But something in the dark night was making Inuyasha bold—childlike still, but bold. Miroku found himself rooted to the spot, watching his friend pump that cock to long, thick hardness.

"Umm," Miroku said, "Inuyasha…it's late…we should be sleeping."

"I know, Houshi-Daddy-sama, but look!" He kept at his task, and the monk's mouth watered despite himself at how beautiful and red that dogcock was growing. Inuyasha spoke calmly as he pumped himself: "I sneak out of Mother's arms at night sometimes, when I cann't sleep. I go to the corner of our room and make myself big…but not big like this." His voice caught in his throat as a drop of pre-cum beaded at the tip and Inuyasha stroked it into his length. "Oh, Houshi-Daddy…it feels so good…" he said with a moan. "Isn't there someone…someone who'll touch me…who'll tell me I'm not ugly…or worthless…" He began to pant as he swelled. "Oh Houshi…Daddy… Touch me, please?"

Miroku found he was panting too, and he fought to summon the willpower to tell Inuyasha how beautiful and worthy he truly was…without getting on his damned knees and sucking down that cock. "Oh Inuyasha," he whimpered, and offered himself up to the precious, broken boy.

Close up, even in the darkness he could see how lovely…and how different that cock was. From within the foreskin, the bluntness of the ruby head peeked, shining with weeping wetness that Miroku had to taste. He placed his hands around Inuyasha's and helped him caress its impressive length and offered his tongue to lick that full red tip.

Inuyasha moaned and shook. "Houshi…Daddy…please…," he murmured.

Miroku did not know whether it was a plea or an expression of gratitude, but it did not matter. "Yes, my Inuyasha," he whispered, then took the head into his mouth and suckled. Inuyasha groaned a deep, man's groan but still shook like a frightened child. Miroku had to speak again: "Let me show you how beautiful you are, little one." And then he devoted himself to a task he never thought he would relish this way, this much. He opened his mouth wide to suck down the hanyou's shaft, bit by bit, head then slowly down the shaft. He'd release a little to wet it, then suck down a little more. And with each up-and-down movement, Inuyasha would gasp and moan, his muscles tightening and his cock flexing. Soon, Miroku was no longer breathing, just fighting his gag reflex to achieve what he sought: to hold that hanyou member entirely in his mouth and down his throat, his lips meeting the flesh and soft hair at Inuyasha's groin.

When he reached his goal, sweat at his forehead and his throat constricting around that beautiful dogcock, Inuyasha could take no more. He shuddered and came, hands clutching at Miroku's thick, short hair. He cried out wordlessly, a lost soul, and Miroku's arms wrapped tightly around his hips to hold him as his thick seed was forced down the monk's throat.

"Inuyasha?" came Kagome's panicked voice in the darkness. "Are you all right?"

Inuyasha sank to his knees and his quickly flagging cock popped from Miroku's mouth. He clutched at the monk's robes and whimpered "No…please…" Miroku swallowed and held his companion tightly. "Shhhhh," he whispered. "You're safe, my Inuyasha. I'm here."


	6. Chapter VI

Salome 10/08

Author's Note: A short chapter to finish up the scene and get our boys to sleep, safe and sound. More soon.

Finding Daddy

VI

How rich his companion's cum tasted in his throat, how strong he smelled. He had never been so close to that aura of sexual power before, never longed to be—or at least never admitted to that forbidden desire. It was not the forbiddenness of man lying with man: no, Miroku was not one to hold with such arbitrary boundaries, even if women were his preference. In truth, all monks were familiar with the bond between a young novice and his master. Much more was learned than spiritual devotion within monasteries. No, what made Inuyasha so forbidden was far more of species than of gender. Even now, as Miroku soothed the frightened child-man beside him with his words and hurriedly helped him raise his hakama, he could not but stop and stare one long moment at the alienness and beauty of that softening inhuman prick he had just suckled with such devoted hunger. The head that still peeped from its foreskin: red as the fire in Inuyasha's youkai eyes, and so blunt in comparison with his own arrow-headed member. His cock throbbed in his robes.

Then Kagome called again, rousing him from his reverie. "Inuyasha?"

"We are fine, Kagome-chan. Simply relieving ourselves."

"But I heard a cry," the miko replied, her voice edged with characteristic concern.

Trying not to mumble the "um er ah" in his mind as Inuyasha softly whimpered as he clung to his Houshi-Daddy, Miroku cleared his throat and mustered confidence: "Inuyasha felt something brush up against his leg. He feared it was a snake. Everything is fine, Kagome-chan. Truly." He wrapped an arm across Inuyasha's shoulder and brought them forth from the trees and back toward camp.

Kagome had risen but not followed them, and now she waited for their return. Sango and Shippo and Kirara were all awake now, too. Miroku felt the tension of the many eyes upon him and his insecure companion, who clung to his waist and continued to make discomforting little sounds of fear. The balancing act of being Inuyasha's Houshi-Daddy without letting the others know of the complex bond he was increasingly sharing with him brought a groan from deep within him. This, of course, made Inuyasha grip him more tightly, made Sango visibly twitch, made Kagome's eyes even bigger, made Shippo cock his head, and made Kirara yawn and shut her eyes. How he wished they could all be as nonchalant as the nekomata and just go back to sleep! Perhaps it was a mistake to bring Inuyasha back in this state… But that thought brought only guilt at his selfishness.

"Everything's fine," he said, unconvincingly, and struggled to lie back down with the barnacle of a big frightened hanyou stuck to him. Sango shook her head and turned away to sleep. Shippo, too. Only Kagome continued to sit and stare as Inuyasha curled himself into Miroku's embrace, pulling the monk's arm over his "little" body tightly and snuggling his bottom into comfortable closeness with Miroku's groin. Miroku groaned again, despite himself. This was so much more than absurd, but the monk was too exhausted now—mentally and physically—to fake it for Kagome anymore.

Kagome sighed. "Make him safe, Houshi-sama," she said then, and the monk's frustration melted into gratitude.

Inuyasha, eyes shut tight in futile effort to block out the frightening smells of the strangers around him, clutched arm that held him. He'd have pulled a leg of his Houshi-Daddy around him too if he thought he could. He tried to stop whimpering but managed only to make it softer.

"I will, Kagome-chan," Miroku said, firmly. Whether or not Kagome knew of the tangled knot in his heart and the bulge in his robes, he could not know. But she trusted him, and that was more than enough.

Kagome lay back down and, like Sango but without her anger, turned away to sleep. Miroku whispered into the furred ear of his treasure: "Sleep now, Inuyasha. Daddy is here."


	7. Chapter VII

Salome 10/08

Finding Daddy

VII

The next few days went relatively smoothly—as smoothly as they could go, given Inuyasha's clingy dependence, his combined childlike behavior and adult body, and Miroku's tense efforts to balance everything and keep everyone calm and happy. He had rarely found himself in such a mediator's position before, and he did not like it. He liked Inuyasha's attentions, true enough, whether he was whining that some little bug had gotten in his eye, showing off the prize of an enormous flower he found, demanding Houshi-Daddy's attention ("Play catch with me!"), or demanding Houshi-Daddy's other kind of attention ("Let Inuyasha make Houshi-Daddy hard again, please?").

Generally, he was able to keep the boy-man distracted, and Shippo particularly loved indulging his newfound playmate. Meanwhile, Kagome remained mature and neutral, despite her desire to "sit" the hanyou when he accidentally trampled the picnic as he chased a butterfly. Sango, though, was another matter. She was distant and sullen and turned away from them all, grooming Kirara's sleek fur and flying off for rides on her to scout as often as possible. Miroku felt pangs of guilt—he had genuine affection for the brave and beautiful young slayer—but his hands, as well as his mind and heart, were full.

The fragile balance was shattered completely, however, three days later. They were walking in the direction of a nearby village to restock supplies when they met up with two young travelers. They spoke of trouble in the village, of a sudden windstorm that destroyed many homes when the weather was clear elsewise. They hastened their pace, hoping to reach the village by nightfall to see if they might determine the cause or otherwise assist. Kagome sensed no jewel shard yet, but she kept her senses alert. Inuyasha grew fearful and clung tighter than ever to Miroku, who reassured him in a soft voice that made Sango visibly shudder.

Only a few moments later, however, the pair were greeted by a whirlwind blast that took leaves from trees and sent them sprawling. Miroku stuck his staff in the ground and held himself in place as best he could, while the incongruous form of a rolling ball of inuhanyou tumbled past him, crying out in fear. From out of a spiraling cloud appeared Kagura, chuckling at the display before her. Miroku cursed his luck but stood his ground. "What fool's errand brings you this time, Kagura?" he scoffed.

Kagura ignored the monk in favor of the sprawled Inuyasha, eyes wide and spitting dirt. She pointed a fan daintily. "Clumsier than usual, I see, Inuyasha," she laughed.

"Hou…shi," Inuyasha whimpered, making no effort to rise.

Kagura raised a delicate eyebrow. "So easily defeated?" she mocked, and her fan flicked a Dances of Blades attack directly at Inuyasha.

The cowering hanyou covered his head and cried out in panic as Miroku stepped between them and withstood the attack as best he could. His clothes and skin were rent with blade-like slashes but he did not move.

Kagura watched the spectacle in wonder. Inuyasha was not rising to protect his companion. No, he was desperately frightened and in no shape to fight. Surely, her first small attack was not enough to truly wound the hanyou, so something else must be wrong with him.

Inuyasha watched in wonder as well. He was terrified and horrified at the wounds the monk was taking in order to protect him. Images suddenly flashed through his mind. He saw himself, an enormous sword held aloft, racing at this small woman in her layered kimono, screaming a defiant attack. He saw the slayer, her weapon sailing. The miko firing an arrow. Was this fantasy…or…?

The wind had subsided and Miroku was calling out the name "Kagura!" while unwrapping his bead-covered wrist.

The wind sorceress laughed anew and flicked her fan. Saimyousho appeared above her head, and she taunted the monk: "Can you afford their poison?" she asked coyly, then tossed up her tiny white feather and flew into the air, the insects in formation behind her.

She would tell Naraku of Inuyasha's state, he knew. But he thought little else as he crumpled there in the earth.

Inuyasha ran over, crying "Houshi-Daddy!" in a plaintive voice, just as Kirara landed beside them with a protective growl and her passengers leapt from her back to the monk's side.


	8. Chapter VIII

Salome 10/08

Finding Daddy

VIII

Miroku lay on his back and groaned, loudly. He did not know which was the worst part of their treatment of his wounds: Sango's expressions of dismay, Kagome's fussing, or Inuyasha's crying. The man-pup assured all through copious tears that though he was a lowly and worthless hanyou, he did have healing properties in his saliva and it would work better for his Houshi-Daddy-sama than any of the strange substances the miko was pulling out to spray or smear the multiple slice wounds on Miroku's arms, legs, and torso. He sobbed as he begged their forgiveness for putting the monk in the path of danger as well as for his presumption in asking to treat his beloved Houshi-Daddy…even as he clung to the monk and refused to let the others touch him. The fierce protectiveness could not help but make Miroku smile despite the pain, and the saliva did truly soothe and begin the healing better than Kagome's stinging liquid from the future. Eventually, Inuyasha even let her offer the clean, white gauze to wrap it when he seemed contented that the saliva was ample enough. Of course, he did not let her actually _do_ the wrapping. After that, Miroku drifted off from pain and exhaustion despite his concern that now was not the time for napping.

When he woke, he found himself feeling surprisingly strong and warmed by a small campfire. He also discovered he was an unnoticed audience to a hushed discussion. Inuyasha sat at his side, facing away from him, obviously putting himself between Miroku and the others.

Kagome was speaking: "Inuyasha, can't you _try_ to remember? We all need—Miroku—your 'Houshi-Daddy'—needs you to remember who you are. Kagura will have told Naraku what happened. We need to be strong…"

Inuyasha was shaking his shaggy head forcefully, pointedly not listening. It was clear he was blocking out her words. The boy did not want to be the man again. Miroku could guess why.

Sango made a sound of derision. "Face it, Kagome: we will have to do this ourselves. Inuyasha—_our _Inuyasha—is gone." She rose and walked away. "Kirara and I will take first watch," she called over her shoulder.

Inuyasha gasped, turned away, and clung to Miroku's prone body. The monk's arm instinctively wrapped the boy as he sighed heavily.

"Houshi-Daddy-sama…" he breathed. Then: "The slayer wishes me dead…she will kill me and it is all my fault for getting you hurt," he blurted out. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed.

Kagome did not move, but she addressed Miroku firmly, ignoring Inuyasha. "Houshi-sama, I think Inuyasha…does not wish to remember… His feelings for you…" She faltered.

Miroku sat up, wincing a little with the pain of movement, but not suffering overmuch. Inuyasha's saliva truly did work wonders. If he had to, he could fight. "It is not his fault, Kagome," he said, holding her gaze.

"I'm not saying it is. I'm saying…I'm saying your…attachment…is not helping matters."

Miroku felt anger rising in Kagome. He could not truly blame her, but nor could he acknowledge the truth in her words. Inuyasha had wrapped his arms tightly around his waist and burrowed his head in his robes. He was crying softly now. Miroku stroked his head gently as he spoke. "He is alone, Kagome, more now than ever. Perhaps his memory will return; perhaps it will not. But he needs me, and I will not deny him." He knew the wrongness of his position even as he held it.

"No one is asking you to deny anything," she replied through clenched teeth. The sexual implications of her words were impossible for Miroku to miss.

He felt a flush rise up his throat and into his face. "It is not my fault he loves me and not you now!" he shouted before he could stop himself, holding tightly to Inuyasha's large, shivering body.

"Houshi-sama," Kagome replied, an accusation in barely more than a whisper.

Miroku was immediately sorry for his words. "Kagome," he said, the word a plea for understanding.

The miko rose and looked down at the pitiful site before her, the wounded monk and the even more wounded hanyou she loved. "We cannot fight Naraku without Inuyasha. I'm going to have Kirara take me to the well. I need to find out if there is a way we can help him…I'll talk to Jii-chan and Mama and read…as fast as I can…"

Miroku nodded. Kagome was wise and he was a fool. A selfish fool.

"Will you be all right?" she asked Miroku, and he felt shame burn through him.

"Yes, Kagome. We will be fine."

She nodded and turned to go.

"Kagome," Miroku called and she turned back. "Thank you."


	9. Chapter IX

Salome 11/08

Finding Daddy

IX

Kagome's departure affected the monk powerfully. He did not see her again before she returned to her own time, and Sango came back after bringing her to the well only to ensure the pair did not need her to fetch food for them before she returned to her watch, taking Shippo with her. Inuyasha was quiet, pensive, and spent his time apologizing and fretting until Miroku suggested he attempt to practice with his sword.

At first the hanyou laughed at the idea, saying Tessaiga was far too big for a little boy like him, then catching himself and nodding solemnly. He was awkward, not nearly his former self, but as the magical weapon did not expand to its enhanced size, he was able to wield and swing it without much difficulty.

Sitting up and watching his companion, Miroku spoke softly. "You always protected all of us. Even when we did not need it. Brave, reckless Inuyasha."

Inuyasha turned at the words and let his sword drop. There was something in his eyes, a knowing, adult gaze the monk had not seen since he found him days earlier, injured and lost to himself. "Inuyasha?"

The boy-man blinked and the illusion—was it an illusion?—dissipated. Back was the innocent stare, the fearful hanyou child in the adult's body. "Sorry, Houshi-Daddy," he said, bending to retrieve the sword. "I'll keep practicing." And he walked away, pausing only to look back with wide, sad, golden eyes.

Miroku sighed and forced himself to rise. He grabbed the pail Sango had brought water in and went to fetch more. He was deeply thirsty and needed to rouse himself in case Kagura returned or even Naraku.

Inuyasha sought the safety of a small stand of oaks to release his frustration. He hoisted his sword high and hacked and beat the young trees, slicing through a sapling in one blow and crashing into the bark of a sturdier neighbor. "Damn, damn, damn," he swore as he hacked away, images of Tessaiga's battle form looming unbidden behind his eyes. He saw himself launching into attacks, crying out in battle against hordes of demons, protecting Kagome from danger as she pulled back her slender bow… He whined in desperate negation of the self he saw, a self far removed from who he knew himself to be—a child in need of protection from the monk who loved him as no other ever had. Yet the other knowledge pressed against his temples and made his head pound. "Houshi…," he cried, the sword falling to earth from his calloused hands as he clung to a tree trunk and his body shook.

Having gratefully drunk his fill from the stream and splashed his head and face with its rejuvenating coolness, Miroku filled the bucket and returned to the campsite. Inuyasha was nowhere to be seen, and Sango had not returned. He listened for sounds of clumsy swordwork or whined complaints, but all was still. His heart raced. What if… Oh but there were too many possibilities: attack or kidnapping or worse. Perhaps the dejected creature had simply taken himself away to keep Miroku from being harmed further. He was a fool to leave, even for a few moments. "Inuyasha!" he called, heart in his throat. There was no reply.

Dropping the bucket, he grabbed his staff and ran in the direction Inuyasha had headed. His wounds stung but did not reopen, and he was again grateful and guilt-ridden for the healing and remembered the soft feel of that warm inu tongue on his aching body. "Inuyasha," he called again. "Where are you?"

As he followed a small trail into a little thicket, he nearly tripped over the body of his companion, curled into a ball around his sword. He was still and silent. Deathly still. "Inuyasha," he whispered as he sank to his knees. He hesitated only a moment, almost afraid to touch, then pulled firmly but tenderly at a shoulder to turn that precious face up and check for breathing.

Inuyasha allowed himself to be maneuvered and blinked up at his rescuer. "I've failed everyone," he whimpered, his eyes tear-stained and forlorn.

Miroku stared in shock. The gaze was a child's but the words were an adult's…were Inuyasha's, the real Inuyasha's. "It's all right," he said, without conviction.

"Take me back to mother?" the hanyou pled, allowing his head to rest on Miroku's thighs, and the monk heard in the words the echoes of a deathwish.

"I'm here," Miroku answered, "Houshi-Daddy is here." He leaned in to press his lips to Inuyasha's.

Inuyasha reached his strong arms up and wrapped them around Miroku's shoulders. He kissed him back in the eager, childlike way the monk cherished and craved, and moaned softly. "Houshi…Daddy," he echoed across those soft lips, and deepened the embrace. With the strength of his adult body and the earnestness of his tortured child mind, Inuyasha pulled the monk on top of him, and spread his legs wide. The full-body contact brought a groan from deep within the monk as Inuyasha whined, "Please…"

Rising with effort, Miroku pulled Inuyasha's hakama from him as he lay, looking up with such trust in his eyes it made the monk's breath catch. His own robes parted easily, and he ignored the pain as he hoisted the hanyou's strong legs onto his shoulders. He needed to be inside the boy now, his lover, his companion—to complete a connection that threatened to dissolve at any and every moment. He slickened his fingers as well as he could and circled the tight entrance with trembling touch. "Is this what you want, my Inuyasha?"

"Yes, Daddy…please…," came the reply, and Miroku pressed a finger inside. Inuyasha whined and begged for more. "Please, Houshi-Daddy-sama…make me yours…"

Miroku carefully stroked and roused his Inuyasha, fucking him softly with one finger then two, pausing to spit down to keep from hurting his beloved hanyou, especially now. Everything seemed so very fragile, yet there was an eagerness in both that demanded more than just gentleness. As he pumped in and out, he brought his mouth down to suckle that beautiful dogcock, and Inuyasha threw back his head and moaned with pleasure.

Miroku's own cock throbbed and leaked with sympathy as he sampled and tasted then swallowed that thick, hard shaft. And soon Inuyasha relaxed enough for him to know it was time. He lifted his head and readjusted their position to keep his lover comfortable and open wide to him. As he poised his cock to enter, Inuyasha lifted his head and looked into his eyes again. "Make me yours, forever." Miroku thrust home, and a simultaneous howl of pleasure sent birds flying from their branches into the darkening sky.


	10. Chapter X

Author's Note: I planned this to be a ten-chapter work long ago and got so close to finishing it, then drifted to other stuff and too much work and poof, it's a full YEAR since I began it! Urgh. Time definitely flies. Though I could have stretched this out further, the hints in the last few chapters that Inuyasha's memory was beginning to return led me to want to draw this to a concluding point. That said, it is more a period than an exclamation point and does not preclude either continuation or even future reinjury. Thanks to the wonderful readers and reviewers: hope you like the ending.

Finding Daddy

X

Fucking Inuyasha was as much an experience of fantasy, of unreality, as of deep, bodily, and very real pleasure. The guilt of taking advantage of a child as he looked deeply into sweet, trusting eyes clashed and danced with the powerful arousal of a strong male body beneath him, welcoming and urging him on. Powerful hanyou thighs wrapped around him as he plunged inside, hilted himself with groans matched by the submissive moans of his partner, his boy, his everything. "Hou-shiiiii," Inuyasha panted, and he knew in the sound of it that, without doubt, it was not only boy but man he was claiming.

Climax loomed far sooner than Miroku wished, but the newness, the uniqueness, and the fragility of the moment made self-control impossible for either partner. From the friction of their bodies and deep, drugging kisses, the monk knew his hanyou was going to release first, and he was not disappointed. Inuyasha's climax was high, loud, and desperate. A whimper that grew into a howl that unleashed both pain and pleasure as Miroku pounded into him without pause. "Yes yes yes yes," the monk grunted, a chant that echoed the relentless thrusts of his slender, muscled frame.

The pleasure of afterglow in the beautiful red sunset of a terrible yet incredible day was withheld from the entangled pair, however. Miroku would have no opportunity to feel what it was like to reach his peak and discharge long pent-up emotion and seed in his Inuyasha. As the hanyou's orgasmic wail died down, it was replaced by another, familiar, and most unwanted voice.

"Is there no depth to which you will not sink, monk?" Sesshoumaru scoffed, voice so toneless that only his words betrayed the depth of his revulsion.

Miroku withdrew from Inuyasha's still-quivering form and crouched in front of him, protecting his lover from Sesshoumaru's eyes.

The inuyoukai made a small sound of disgust. "Clearly, Kagura was correct: my brother's injury is not so grave as to prevent you from molesting him. But he is obviously broken in mind if he if did not even attempt to fight off your pathetic advances." Sesshoumaru looked down at Miroku's glistening, wilting cock and scoffed again. "Pathetic," he repeated.

"Don't worry, Inuyasha," Miroku said confidently, reaching for his staff. "I won't let this ignorant braggart hurt you."

"When I choose to hurt that worthless hanyou bastard," Sesshoumaru coolly replied, "it will be when he is able, both mentally and physically, to make it worth my while."

"I am," replied Inuyasha, voice strong and full of anger. He leapt to his feet, grabbed his sword, and stood before his brother, battle ready, naked and sleek in the dusk.

Miroku looked up at him, noting his confidence, his power, and the keenness of his gaze. There was no question: Inuyasha was himself again. He gritted his teeth as his mind wandered to its own selfish questions. How long had he been the old Inuyasha? Who had he been when he came so beautifully and so violently, with Miroku's cock deep inside him? He silently admonished himself. Now was not the time.

Inuyasha growled low and vaulted forward, all rash bravado and taut, compact muscle. His sword crashed against Sesshoumaru's, whose speed was even greater and instincts honed to admirable perfection. But Miroku was far from admiring the intruder. There was no point to their battle—though there never truly was. And yet, once it ended, he would have to face the likelihood of a loss greater than he felt able to bear.

The brothers fought on, Inuyasha hurling his body and brazen insults in his familiar, overconfident snarl of a voice and Sesshoumaru keeping his usual haughty silence and parrying easily. Miroku sighed and headed for the nearby river.

In a pool deep enough to bathe in, the sun now fully set and the moon beginning to show itself, the solitary monk wondered exactly what he was washing himself clean of. A short dream of belonging in a way he never knew possible? A wrongness that somehow was more right than anything else in his short life? Guilt, anger, love?

He had relatively little time to contemplate his blessings or his sins, as Inuyasha soon appeared, still naked but now more dirty and sweaty than before, his robes slung over an arm and sword over his shoulder. His swagger made Miroku smile, despite himself. At the same time, he wanted to reach up and pick the leaves and twigs from his hair. Oh, his sweet, tousled boy. But no, this wasn't his boy anymore.

"I sent him off to mind his own business—whatever that may be," boasted Inuyasha. "Damned pompous idiot. Why the hell doesn't he just go lose himself somewhere?" He jumped into the waist-high pool and splashed Miroku.

"Hey, watch it," the monk snapped out of habit.

"Sorry, Houshi-Da—" Inuyasha stopped himself and looked away, splashing his chest with water.

"How much do you remember?" Miroku asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The pause lasted a moment and a lifetime. "All of it," Inuyasha at last answered, his voice seeming as emotionless as his brother's.

Miroku shivered involuntarily. What answer did he expect? What answer did he want? "I-I did the best I could…" he stammered, feeling foolish but not knowing what else to say.

"I know," the hanyou replied.

"You'd prefer we don't speak of it again, then?" the monk asked with a false ease, sounding hopelessly desperate even to his own ears.

"Probably for the best," Inuyasha replied. "The girls have been hurt enough, you know?"

Miroku blinked. Not only not-child but not even oblivious Inuyasha. Another new personality, a mature one? Very well, then, he would be mature too. "Very true."

"Besides, I've always been more into action than words, eh, monk?"

Miroku looked up into the unexpected sight of a wide, lascivious dog's grin.

With inhuman speed, the hanyou closed the distance between them, grabbed Miroku in his arms, and kissed him, long and hard. His hands roamed freely and possessively over the body he held. When he at last let his prey up for air, he licked his ear and then whispered into it: "Thank you for taking care of me…Houshi-Daddy-sama. Now let me take care of you."

Miroku groaned and melted into Inuyasha's strong embrace, nodding feebly. He wouldn't dream of ruining the moment with more words.


End file.
